Page 72 of Sing it, Sam

I position the walker in front of him. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” I say, and offer an exaggerated wink and a cluck of my tongue.

I hover beside him as he takes cautionary steps all the way to reception.

“How many doughnuts are we talkin’ about exactly?” he asks, almost breathless as I swipe my pass to open the secure doors and wave to Kathleen.

“They sell them in packs of six, so I’m thinking at least two of them have your name on them.”

“I’m no mathematician, but that doesn’t add up. If anything, it should be the other way around. I’ve been denied the simple deep-fried pleasure for far too long. Four in my favour would be on the money.”

“I make no promises,” I say, as I open the back door of the car for him.

He stills, his knuckles white as they grip the walker. “Why do I have to sit in the back?” Disappointment is splashed across his face.

I shrug one shoulder. “I dunno. You don’t have to.”

Sam nods towards the front passenger door. “I’m moving up in the world, Janie. Besides, you don’t wanna experience my back-seat driving. Just ask the sheriff.”

Oh, how I admire that spirit.

“Yeah, no one likes a backseat driver. Even a cute one. Front seat it is,” I say, rushing around to open the door for him like a chauffeur. I help him into the seat.

He swats my hand away when I try to strap him in. He scoffs. “The cute ones know how to put on a seat belt, you know.”

I poke out my tongue at him, close the door and then collapse his walker and secure it in the back.

Our first stop is the much-anticipated doughnut van. I rush out and purchase six of the best, and two cappuccinos. I grab a handful of sugars because I figure if he’s into doughnuts, he probably has a sweet tooth and takes a few in his coffee.

Five minutes later, treats in hand, I pull the vehicle up to the park. Luckily, there’s a disabled parking spot free about ten metres from the tree I planned on setting up at. And there’s a concrete footpath which gets me within a metre or so of it.

I pull the vehicle into the car park, cut the engine, and pull on the handbrake. “Stay here,” I order with a wave of a threatening finger.

“I’m not about to move into a sprint.”

I roll my eyes. “Ha ha. Seriously, just give me a couple of minutes. And close your eyes.”

“’Kay, but I can’t guarantee there will be any doughnuts left when you get back,” he says, dangling the brown paper bag which already bears the stains of the oily goodness within.

“Don’t you dare,” I warn with an outstretched index finger.

Once my little oasis in the park is set up, I wheel the walker over to the front passenger door, and open it.

Sam’s jaw stills mid-chew. White crystals rim the outside of his lips. A morsel of doughnut is held in his sugar-crusted fingers. The stunned look in his eye is much like Butch’s when I catch him destroying a roll of toilet paper, which happens far too often for my liking.

“What?” he says around a mouthful of dough. “You left me alone with them. What’d you expect?”

I want to scowl but end up laughing. He’s right. I never should have left them alone. I would have done exactly the same thing.

Sam takes my hand and wraps his arms around my shoulders, his mouth moving dangerously close to my face. “How you goin’?” he drawls in my ear as I help him to the walker. The warmth of his lips teases at my skin.

“Just dandy. Be better when I get my share of doughnuts, though.”

“S’okay, I saved you some. That’s just the kind of stand-up guy I am.”

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